Under the Floorboards
by Hugo V
Summary: Growing up is hard for everyone - it's no different on Pylea. *no spoilers, just a little one-shot*


**Author's Note: I disliked how Lorne's childhood was never really explored in Angel, so I tried to elaborate on it a little in this short one-shot. Hope ya' like it! Angel belongs to Joss Whedon, and I own nothing.**

His time waiting had felt like days, though only an hour had passed sheepishly by. The young child's spot was impossibly horizontal, vertical, and diagonal simultaneously, rendering him uncomfortable no matter his shifting.

Rearranging his limbs several times over to no great effect, he craned his neck down and waited for the inevitable. Blood Beetles clawed fruitlessly at the hem of his worn, cloth trousers before scurrying upwards in an attempt to discover bare flesh.

Not fully noticing this - having been preoccupied with something else entirely - Lorne winced under a piercing bug bite and swatted the offender away with frantic hands, crushing another under foot.

The rest of the party scurried away to other shadowy corners under the floorboards, regrouping for what the green boy hoped was not another another attack. Momentarily alleviated from his current stress by the encounter, he sighed, thinking back to earlier in the day when things were better - though not by much.

"Follow your brother's example." Lorne remembered his mother's demand, and the harsh undertone it carried with it; such thinly veiled disappointment. He obeyed by sitting patiently still until Landokmar was finished swinging wildly at the air with a short sword, followed by a bout of respectful clapping from the Vile Excrement.

Flipping the sword more adeptly than a person his age should have been able to do, Landokmar condescendingly offered it to Lorne, who gripped the handle in an untrained, tiny fist. Remembering his brother's motions vaguely, the green boy flailed his limbs with wild abandon.

"No, no, no. No!" Shouted Landokmar in his underdeveloped voice, but Lorne continued to keep at it until the tip of the sharpened blade caught clumsily in the side of his britches and pulled away. It toppled to the ground unceremoniously.

Not wanting to look up, the child did anyway; twin expressions of shame mirrored his own, and after a second of frowning he received a crack to the head.

"Try again!" The weapon was thrust back into his hands, then scrutinized by Lorne as if both concave and convex. A sharp pulsating in the back of his scalp where the slap hit did not help matters either and he found himself unable to regain focus.

"Try again Krevlornswath!"

It took an uneasy minute to balance his footing, but when he did a look of such indomitable determination planted itself on his brow that even Landokmar gazed with awe. Pulling back his arm, he let the sword fly, quite literally, to the other side of the grassy meadow where it stuck in the dirt like a javelin.

"No!" Began Lorne's brother, but was interrupted by an even angrier shout from the Vile Excrement's frothing mouth.

"You are a disgrace to the Deathwok Clan!" She began, and the offending child knew that lest he escape then and there, he would get a beating and spend the night in the lice shed. Ducking to narrowly avoid his mother's club-like fists, he turned on his heels and ran from the snarls of hate behind him.

"After him, Landokmar!" The bearded woman demanded, and before she had let the last word from her putrid maw he had given chase to Lorne - now fleeing from the scene. Built more stout and muscle-bound than his younger kin, he failed to gain any ground, falling behind until the other boy was nothing more than a thin bodied silhouette in the dusky distance.

An hour of frantic speeding under low hanging trees and sharp-nosed brambles had etched tiny lines upon Lorne's face. He knew far back that his brother had already given up the chase, and what he was running from had nothing to do with avoiding punishment.

Every hill climbed presented another one more steep than the last, until eventually the terrain became too mountainous to safely traverse. Finding his breath beneath a wheezing pant, Lorne rested his palms on his knees and turned; just as predicted, no one had followed.

He felt grateful for the brief time alone, even if it was afforded to him by directly eluding his Life Giver's 'rightful' abuse. No doubt there would be worse than brimstone to pay when he returned home, where the beast would be waiting to chew him apart.

A night alone in the forest meant certain death, so he reluctantly began his trod back. By then his feet were aching and the cold had set in deeply enough to wrap his bones with dull pain. A collection of stars peeked out from the advancing darkness as he neared his destination, looking no different than when he had left save for a few blackened angles where the wood sidings met.

Lorne was clever enough to check for noise before outright entering, and when he heard none chose to open the door and check inside. Everything was stationary - no movement of any kind. Just then twigs snapped noisily behind him, accompanied by three voices. The addition was Numfar.

He took the quickly fleeting opportunity to bolt under the house's foundation, clawing at any obstruction in his way until safely, albeit inelegantly, nestled. Lorne could sense emotions nearby, riding the crisp air. There was fading anger, but overall cheer amongst his family as if his absence was cause for celebration; he did not fool himself, to them it was.

Tiny rocks kicked up against him as the stone supports crested overhead, just high enough to allow him to delve further inwards with an irritatingly stinging grope. At last he swung his bottom half around, his waist acting as a centrifuge, and drew his knees to meet his chin. Lorne saw the faint glow of candlelight between the wooden boards when he looked up, and wondered how long he had until being found.

The Blood Beatles came and went, followed afterwards by a drawn out creaking from the entrance. A breath of dust watered his eyes, no more red than they were previously; anti-climatically, the disturbance's cause had left again, leaving the green boy by his lonesome.

Lorne hummed himself a lullaby and drifted off to sleep.

**Once again, I hope you liked it. Thanks for reading. :)**


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